Remember, dear reader, the Owl prepared herself for a date a while ago? Well, here is the report of the event.
“Hello ! Hi ! Ho ! Hehehe.”
Yes, I’m somewhat nervous. I start by apologizing profusely, with such a torrent of words that I’m quite sure he has no idea what happened to me. I mention a bus, my head, 2 friends, and my shoes, therefore not lying in the least, then I just stand there, silent, panting slightly, and sweating copiously. His puzzled look fades, he smiles to me and says, in a rich voice full of undertones:
“Hello Sweetie.”
He then gets close to me, to kiss me on the cheek “A la francaise”, and I step back rather quickly to avoid him, upsetting the glass of the ostrich lady on the table behind, causing the waiter to spring forward with napkins.
Nothing personal, I just don’t like being slobbered on by strangers.
After apologizing (again, profusely) to the ostrich lady and dabbing at her table with a doubtful tissue I found at the bottom of my purse, almost upsetting another glass in the process, I turn back, cordially ignore the fact that, giving up the kiss as a mode of welcome, he is extending his hand towards me, and sit down.
“I’m sorry, says I, but I’m all sweaty and disgusting, you know, with the running, you know, because I was late.”
Having said that, I sigh and lean against the back of my chair. Realizing just in time that it is a stool, and doesn’t have a back, I do half a jump, stand very straight, giggle, and stop moving.
Stools are my personal furniture nemesis.
It is at this point that his welcoming words, Hello Sweetie, come back to me. Now, you have to know that I met him only once before this date, and talked to him for about 5 minutes, by which I mean, stood in the same circle of multiple people talking. That it to say, I never talked to him. Therefore, there are only three reasons that could possibly explain why a man I don’t know would address me like that the first time he talks to me.
1-It’s a Doctor Who reference. It automatically means we are kindred spirits. I will marry him and bear his children.
2-He is a time-traveler, who has known me very well in the future. I will marry him and bear his children.
3-He is a rather old, out-of-touch lady working in a diner who calls everybody sweetie and honey in her deep smoker voice. It is less likely that I would marry her and bear her children, but who knows.
Before I can decide on the best way to ask if he is a time-traveler, I become aware that he is talking to me.
“Hum, yes, sorry, you were saying ?”
And for the first time, I look at him.
He’s a wolf.
I know. How can you arrange a date and sit at a restaurant table with someone without even noticing that the person in question is a wolf, do you ask? Well, I had barely seen him, my arrival had been somewhat turbulent, and I had, until then, only looked at his shoes. Very weird, fashionable shoes.
Your next question, dear reader, is: what is the big deal? You’re friend with a Tyrex! Why don’t you like wolves?
Good point! Exactly what I’m thinking. He’s certainly a very nice wolf, with a heart of gold hidden behind his big fangs.
I just wish he wouldn’t smile like that, it creeps me out.
Oh, he repeated his question, didn’t he, and I wasn’t listening, I was just staring, wasn’t I?
Ok, I’ll just say yes.
“Oh yes! Thank you!”
He looks perplexed.
“I… I was telling you it took me 30 minutes to find a parking spot…
-Oh, of course!”
Thankfully, the waiter chose this moment to appear with the menu, and ask if we would drink something. I look at him as a camel looks at an oasis when his last drink was a month ago: lovingly, longingly, and wishing he has at least 40 liters of the stuff. I order a glass of white wine, but my eyes are suggesting he put some tequila in the wine to tough it up, and some vodka in my glass of water.
The wolf orders a whisky and looks intolerably pedantic while doing so. I sigh inwardly. I know what will inevitably follow, and I don’t mind. It could even be interesting if it’s really a passion of his, and not just for style. I’ll ask him. I just wish my glass of wine was already here.
“Oh, it looks like you’re well acquainted with whiskies!”
And the lecture starts. I should listen. It doesn’t sound as if he knows much about it, though. Just fancy words and pompous opinions. I wish he was a camel. A time traveling camel. Or a dromedary. I wonder which is the most comfortable… I mean, if you sit between the two humps, I guess you’re quite stuck in there, less risk of falling. While on a dromedary, you have to be very high up.
Still, I wouldn’t want to be the last owl to break a camel’s back.
The wolf is looking at me, I should say something.
“Oh no, not quite!
-You don’t like white wine?”
I don’t have any luck tonight.
“Oh, sorry, I meant I like it, but I don’t know anything about it!”
And a smile. Looking stupid always works.
If he was a camel, or a dromedary, I could at least be happy when I look at him! I wish I could look at pictures of dromedaries now… I love looking at pictures of dromedaries…
The wolf laughs. Doing so, he displays a disturbing amount of teeth. Why is he laughing? Did I say the bit about dromedaries out loud?
”Do you start all of your sentences by Oh? he asks.
-Oh no!”
I swear inwardly. At least, it’s not the dromedary stuff. I should stop thinking about dromedaries.
”I’m sorry, I’m so nervous… Please tell me about yourself. What do you do?”
Well done Owl, like an adult! Now focus on him, and free your thoughts from any dromedary.
Business lawyer in a big firm, of course. Then again, I won’t let prejudices cloud my judgement, and I will decide by listening attentively to him, and not think about a dromedary in a suit.
Hehehe.
…
Hehehe…
…
Thank God: I see the glass of wine on its tray, getting nearer and nearer…
…
Oh, he’s back on the whisky theme again.
…
The ostrich lady behind me attracts my attention by tapping me in the back. I turn. She apologizes because she accidentally trampled my coat. I apologize, because it keeps falling off from the stool. We agree that stools are stupid, especially when you are small, it’s so difficult to sit on top of those things. She doesn’t have this issue herself, but confides to me that her back hurts, I tell her that I almost fell on her because I tried to lean on the back but there wasn’t any. We laugh. I look at her as I would look at a dromedary in a suit: I wish I could join her and be her friend and leave the wolf to somebody else, but I can’t, so I turn back, just in time to see my friend the waiter asking if we want to eat something.
”The lady will have the Clam chowder, says the wolf. You have to have it, he murmurs to me. It’s amazing. And we’ll share the cheese platter.”
I gargle. The waiter takes that as an approbation and abandons me. The wolf is now talking about clams.
It was not a happy gargle. It was a gargle between shock and pure rage. What can I do now? It will take me 10 minutes to get down from that stupid stool, and the waiter is already in the kitchen. I look furiously at the wolf, but he is busy looking at the wine card and deciding what I should drink with whatever he decided I should eat.
I boil inwardly. Breathe, Owl, breathe, and think of a dromedary.
In a suit.
I already feel better.
Eating clam chowder.
I hate clam chowder.
Maybe I could tell him I was allergic to seafood? Too late, I should have tell him that instead of gargling. Stupid Owl gargler.
I’m sure he has many amazing qualities that I haven’t seen yet, but my first impression is far from good. Far as in many light-years away.
Part 2 is coming soon!